


The Prodigals

by Pollymel



Category: Devil's Cub - Georgette Heyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollymel/pseuds/Pollymel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary and Vidal return to London after their wedding trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prodigals

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank [ Sonia](http://lastrega.livejournal.com/) and [Alasen](http://alasen.livejournal.com/) for betaing and [Sin](http://sinden.livejournal.com/) and [ Nirvana](http://i-naiad.livejournal.com/) for moral support. And of course Georgette Heyer for rocking my socks and girlyswot for giving me an excuse to reread. Written for girlyswot.

 

 

It was quite late in the day when the carriage had left Newhaven. The occupants had taken a rest in an inn to recover from the trip from France, sea travel having a notably unfortunate affect on one of the passengers. Now it was quite dark as the carriage sped along the road to London. The road was a moonlit blur before them as the impassive coachman and now experienced groom kept the swift pace. 

Inside the carriage, the passengers appeared not to notice the speed of their travel. Seated unfashionably close, the couple appeared to be in a comfortable doze. The gentleman had stretched out his long legs and crossed his feet at the ankle, careful not to rub his brightly buckled shoes, and had one hand jammed firmly into the pocket of his very fine and well cut coat. His other hand was holding his companion's waist in a indecorous but firm grip. His hair was held back with a black riband, was deplorably unpowdered, and slightly disordered as was his cravat. His shadowed face was cold and gave an impression of careless disregard that his gentle clasp contradicted. 

His companion, comprehensively settled into his hold and leaning against his shoulder was most definitely asleep. She was a neat figure of medium height dressed comfortably and plainly in contrast to him. Her chestnut hair was styled neatly but not without fashion and she swayed with the movement of the equipage without stirring. 

Their silent trip was abruptly interrupted by shouts and gunfire. The guard reacted quickly, readying the blunderbuss, but these highwaymen were ready for it and knew the road well. They overpowered the guard and driver and one of them pulled up to window of the carriage.

"Hand over the pretties, me loves," he demanded. 

The response was not what he had expected. 

"Oh, please don't," the lady begged, but she was not speaking to him. She was speaking to her companion. "You know that it just becomes complicated." 

Her companion, still lounging in the seat, one hand in his coat, the other around her, did not seem to be swayed by her argument. "What would you have me do then, my little love. I will not reward this behaviour." 

The highwayman though a bit startled by this exchange was not unexperienced in his trade. "You will hand over your jewellery," he insisted, holding his pistol firmly pointed at the lady. "Or your piece of pretty gets shot." 

They both turned to look at him as though they had forgotten that he was there. "There, you see, he's not grateful," the tall young gentleman argued. "I am still not sure what you want me to do."

The lady sighed and spoke to the bandit for the first time. "Sir, I beg you to reconsider. This is not a very good idea." She shifted in her seat, her hand falling between their bodies. 

Thoroughly confused by now but determined that this night would not be entirely a waste, the highwayman shook his head. "I'm sorry, lass, but I will be well paid for this nights work."

The lady sighed, but did not appear to be overly impressed by this. She turned to the gentleman, and opened her mouth to speak. As she did, a shot rang out, a flash of muzzle fire, and the highwayman disappeared from view. Removing his hand and the pistol he held in it out of his pocket and tossing it on the opposite seat, the gentleman shook his head. "Another coat ruined," he mourned, crushing out the smouldering ashes that had been his pocket. "You do not seem to be entirely successful in preventing me from killing irritating people, my dear." 

His wife dropped the small elegant pistol that she had had in her hand as well, and inspected the damage to the coat and the carriage. Outside there were some sounds of panic and apparently the guard regained his blunderbuss. "I expect that I will have to start gradually with that resolution and I did not feel that he respected my efforts on his behalf."

"Certainly he did not suspect that you would have shot him also. Or were you considering shooting me again?" He was amused. "I fear I have corrupted you rather than you reforming me," he suggested. His coat and the threat having been dealt with he kissed her quickly. 

The driver peered into the window at them and waited until an appropriate moment. "They appear to have left, my lord." 

"Then why haven't we?" My lord answered. In response to a sharp nudge, he added to this. "When we get to London send someone to Bow Street to inform them that there is a body here." With no more ceremony than that, they were on their way again. They were so close to London that there was no more dozing on the way. They sat comfortably entwined and glanced out of the window. Dominic, Marquis Vidal and Mary his Marchioness had returned to England.

~*~

It was late in the day but still early for the social whirl of London, so the streets were bustling with people going to the theatre or to parties and routs. 

It had been quite some time since they had been in London. After their wedding in Paris they had gone to Italy where they enjoyed themselves and their novel surrounds for some time. Vidal had found some amusement in Mary's calm acceptance of the dramatics and high temperaments of the social crowd in Venice. Everything he witnessed of her merely made him admire her more and her placid napping and now level acknowledgment of their arrival in London when he knew she was nervous charmed him.

Mary was indeed nervous. She had left London in a flurry of scandalous behaviour which had been publicised, she knew, by her mother and sister. Her grandfather General Challoner and the Duke of Avon's efforts to disguise it were almost certainly effective. Certainly she would doubt that the Duke of Avon had experienced the failure of any of his schemes. Even so she admitted to a deplorable sense of doubt now that she was returning to London. 

Worse than that, or certainly more specifically, she was quite nervous about the reception she would get from her mother and sister. She had written to them, but they had not responded to her missive. She had a sinking feeling that Sophia would not have forgiven her for marrying Vidal. Regardless of these lowering thoughts she had determined that she would go and see them as soon as the wedding trip was over. Now that they were back in London, she wished she was the sort of person to put unpleasantness off. As she wasn't, and as she knew that she would not forgive herself if she didn't, she knew she would make the visit in the morning. 

They were both a little travel worn as they drew up to Avon House. There were some lights on, as expected as their servants had been sent ahead while they waited in Newhaven. However they had not expected the blaze that greeted them. Vidal sighed and smiled. "It looks like my parents may be here to greet us, my dear. Are you ready for the festival?"

"I would like to see them again," Mary said ignoring his dry sarcasm. "It seems like an age since Paris."

"Not long enough," Vidal smiled at her. "I would like to have kept you to myself for longer."

Mary ignored this silliness and held out her hand to allow him to help her down from the carriage. The front door was opened before they got to the top of the stair. 

"My lord," the butler greeted them. "My lady."

Vidal tucked Mary's arm more firmly in his. "Are my parents at home?" he asked as he stepped through the door.

The butler bowed again. "They are my lord. They had a dinner party, and the family are still here." 

They had made enough noise that someone in the parlour had heard them and a door was flung open. Juliana dashed out and threw herself at Mary. 

"Mary! Oh, why were you away so long! You didn't say when you were coming home! How are you? You must tell me all about Venice! Frederick is here! He will want to see you!" Juliana's exuberance was gratifying and only a little terrifying. She was not the only one to come to greet them though. The tiny red-haired whirlwind that was the Duchess of Avon came out to them as well and then dragged them all back through the hall way to the parlour. 

" _Mes enfants!_ You are home! I am so glad. Your message only came this afternoon and we had a dinner party. _Voyons_ , it is all family!" She turned to the butler. "It is time for tea, though I prefer port," she added in explanation to Mary. 

"All family" could mean many different things to Vidal and Mary, but in this case it was all of their family. They came in to find not only the Duke of Avon, Rupert, Fanny, John and Frederick Comyn but also Hugh Davenport, General Challoner as well as Mrs Challoner and Sophia. This was a very strange collection of people to be found in one room, let alone at this moment. 

Mary hesitated for a moment at the door, one hand lifted to her hair aware of her travel worn appearance. She dropped it as she saw her mother and sister. 

Evidently the party was aware of the couple's imminent arrival, because no one acted shocked. However the reactions on their appearance were varied and revealing despite their warning. 

Mary's eyes went straight to her mother and sister. Mrs Challoner was so busy looking casual about being invited to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Avon that she almost didn't move when her daughter arrived. Sophia on the other hand stood up obviously unable to contain her rage and venom at her sister. Mrs Challoner had the presence of mind to clutch at her arm, hissing at her to sit down. 

Mary's sudden paleness was not noticed by Rupert who stepped forward abruptly, coming forward to shake Vidal's hand. "My dear boy! Too long by half. I've been talking about you. I have been telling Hugh about Dijon. Ah, you are a devilishly smart lad for finding such a splendid soft port." 

Vidal accepted this accolade as his due, not having much choice. He didn't get a chance to disclaim responsibility for the entire existance of Dijon before Fanny was enveloping him in what she thought of as the appropriate embrace of an Aunt. 

"My dear boy! How happy I am to see you! I am cross that you did not wait long enough for me to come to the wedding, but travel is so hard to organise, you know." She fluttered at Mary. "And you, my dear, I am so glad to finally meet you, I have been longing to for an age! We must have a comfortable coze." She turned back to Vidal, leaving no gaps in her attack. "And you! Breaking my heart. You had me taken in! I would have believed that you and Juliana would make a match of it, you naughty boy."

Vidal's face was cool and blank as he blinked at her. "Indeed? I am sure that I did nothing to encourage that particular pretension."

Juliana, still clinging to Mary's hand laughed brightly. "Oh mother, you know that that would never happen. And aren't you please at how things turned out? You must love my Mr Comyn." 

Fanny waved a hand and smiled. "Of course, things turned out for the best and now we are all happy! And we must hear all about your trip, mustn't we, John?" 

Looking serious and eminently worthy of being his mother's social shield, John agreed. "Your wedding trip to Italy must be very interesting. You must have seen some very important art."

By this time Sophia had gained control of her temper and had crossed the room to embrace her sister. "My dear, you look haggard, we must give you time to dress for company before we talk about art!" She smiled brightly and stepped between Mary and Vidal. "I will come with you, and we will have a gossip."

The little Duchess looked at her in some astonishment. "But Mary is always so _je ne sais pas, tranquille?_ She has been travelling all day and wishes to meet with us all."

Mary shot Vidal a calming glance as he reached for her. "Sophia is right, I would like to freshen up. Please, I will return shortly and Dominic will tell you of our wedding trip." 

Vidal caught her hand and kissed it, lovingly and pointedly, before letting her go. If Sophia's step had more flounce in it than Mary's no one remarked on it. 

Mary was shown to her room by a very deferential Gaston and once they entered the room Sophia turned to face her. "How dare you?" she hissed. 

Mary took a deep breath. "Dare to do what?" she asked calmly. 

Sophia glared. "You stole him from me! Now you flaunt it! You are a sly selfish madam, and you know it." 

There wasn't much that Mary could say to that, but she tried nonetheless. 'Sophia, I tried to save you from ruin." 

"Did you?" Sophia was not impressed. "You were not ruined, you _married_ him." 

Mary knew better than to have this discussion, but she still tried. "You were going to ruin yourself, and he would not have..." There really was no good way to say this, she thought, she folded her hands before hers. "I would not like this to come between us," she tried. 

"I don't know how you could imagine it wouldn't," Sophia snapped. "You humiliate me and steal Vidal from me, and then force him to marry you! What do you think will happen? Everyone saw him making up to me, and now they think it was you! You!" This word was filled with all the disgust that the beautiful girl could put into it. 

Mary held out her hands to Sophia. "It wasn't like that and you know it. Please, can you not forgive me for hurting you?" 

Sophia turned away. "No, I will not. I will go along with this farce that the Duke has asked. I will not forgive you, I won't. I always knew you were conniving." 

Mary sat down at her dressing table and began to unpin her hair with trembling fingers. "You are my sister and I love you," she offered. Sophia was silent, looking away from her. Mary's abigail arrived and neither of them spoke until they were on their way back down to the party. 

"I will never forgive him for choosing you when he could have had me," Sophia said just before they walked in the door. 

This time Mary nodded at Vidal and crossed the room immediately to do her bows to the Duke of Avon and her grandfather. They greeted her with smiles, and if the Duke's was cooler and more amused than the General's loving one, no one would have been surprised. They talked commonplaces for a few minutes, discussing the travel and the crossing. The Duke asked after the crossing and Mary politely did not give too many details of her indisposition. 

The Duke was always uncomfortably acute. "Child, you seem a little unhappy. Adjustments will be made, but they take time."

Mary smiled at him. "Sir, I cannot ask more from you than I already have, and I feel that I have already asked too much."

"As I have mentioned previously, I am in your debt. You are a very welcome addition to my family and we are known to take family very seriously, child. Pray, allow me to do what I can." He bowed at the General who hrmphed an agreement. "What we can."

Mary nodded her acknowledgment of this thought. "I do appreciate it, sir, but I feel myself and time must complete this task."

The General patted her hand with affection, and while the Duke of Avon did not concede, he did not argue and there was a glint of amusement in his eye. 

Vidal was exchanging greetings with Mr Comyn. They had come to like each other despite their very obvious differences, in they way that two fellows can after they have been through much together or tried to kill each other with their hands or swords. While they may both be quite astounded by the other's choice of lady they did understand the strength of feeling involved. It was from Mr Comyn that he got an explanation for this absurd family tableau. A dinner party had been organised, but the Challoners had not been invited. However, they had been visiting this morning when word of the couple's arrival had come. Leonie had found it difficult to exclude them when they knew this, and had invited General Challoner to even the numbers. 

Mr Comyn had not yet married Juliana, however with the Duke's tacit support his pretentions to her hand were no longer rejected. Fanny had come to publicly accept the match, even if she had privately not entirely resigned herself. A date would be set soon, Mr Comyn informed Vidal, and if it had already been discussed and decided by himself and his lady he did not yet reveal it. 

Vidal was not terribly interested in the love affairs of others, but he was pleased to hear that this would resolve itself soon. 

He looked up as Mary returned, and took a deep breath and did not go straight to her. She was pale but calm, and anyone not knowing her as he did might have thought she was perfectly happy. He had come to respect her independence and when he could bear it he let her handle things her way. She did not need her sister strangled by her husband, he told himself, but he knew he would never be more than polite to Sophia. 

He had never particularly cared about Sophia. He had thought her an attractive way to pass the time before his exile. He had almost entirely forgotten about her by the time that he and Mary had reached France. He had been startled on seeing her again for she was beautiful, but strangely less attractive than she had been previously. Certainly her expression on seeing Mary was very unappealing. Nevertheless she was now his sister-in-law and he could be civil. 

This resolution was soon tested, with Sophia coming to their group with a beautiful flirtatious smile on her face. 

"My Lord, it has been too long," she said to him, offering Mr Comyn a smile. 

Vidal shrugged. "Many things have happened since I saw you last," he said. "Have you come to wish me happy?"

Sophia tittered. "Oh, do you need good wishes, my lord?" 

"I do not think so," he said. "Certainly not from you." 

Sophia looked startled, unaccustomed to such harsh speech. "I will not offer them, then," she said. 

"'Twould be best, perhaps," he agreed. 

Mrs Challoner, aware of some danger, scurried to join the group. She laid a hand on her daughter's arm. "This is pleasant, is it not? All family like this." 

Vidal looked at her anxious face, and over at Mary gossiping with his father so comfortably, and Leonie holding court over the remaining guests and quite rudely burst into laughter.

~*~

Later that evening Mary and Vidal finally had a chance to escape and were preparing for bed. Mary was unpinning her hair and Vidal was assisting by kissing her neck when he could find the opportunity. She swatted him and suggested if he was feeling helpful he could undo her buttons. 

He considered this and then decided that it would not be below his dignity and besides would help her get into his arms sooner. Mary was pensive, though, and this distracted him from his scheming. 

"My love, what worries you?" he asked. 

Mary looked at him in the reflection of her glass. "I was thinking," she said calmly, "that I think that the part of our day that included you shooting the highwayman dead might well have been preferable to the part with our families having tea."

Vidal laughed again and leaned over to assist her more thoroughly.

 


End file.
